One Last Mission
by Dream Painter
Summary: COMPLETE! :: When there's an accident, some of the Atlantis team fall victim. Will they find a solution in time? Or will this mission be their last? No slash.
1. Something's off

**One Last Mission**

by Dream Painter

A/N: _I don't own SGA or any of its awesome characters. Wish I did, but the sad truth is that I don't. Sigh. _

_Be sure to let me know what you think—I value your feedback. In fact, I thrive on it. I may even have a review addiction . . . Enough of me, on to the tale . . ._

_I dedicate this fic to my best friend—I don't know what I'd do without you!_

---

"John," Teyla began as she joined Lt. Colonel Sheppard and Ronon on their way to the gate room.

"Teyla?" he returned.

"I am . . . concerned for Rodney. He hasn't been acting like himself," she told him.

"You saying he's been acting like someone else?" Sheppard joked.

"I wish," Ronon added.

"He seems to be constantly—preoccupied," the Athosian insisted. "Have you not noticed?"

"No," Ronon answered. She looked at him, mildly irritated by his apparent lack of observance.

"Look," John said. "You're probably right—I'll talk to him." The truth was that he actually shared her concern. McKay had seemed a little different, but he thought he was just imagining things.

"Thank you," she nodded. "I would do it myself, but I do not think I am the right person to do so." They entered the gate room. McKay was up in the control room explaining something to a young technician, who looked rather uncomfortable. His teammates thought little of it, never dreaming that the source of the tech's discomfort was actually an almost weary patience that McKay was exhibiting at the moment that the man wasn't use to.

"You need more sleep," Dr. Weir noted.

"Everyone needs more sleep," the man responded, though the woman thought he looked even more tired than usual. She was also pretty certain she knew the reason why.

"After this mission, I'm putting your team on stand-down until you all get a little more rest," she informed him.

"Ah, well—if you think so," his tone informed _her_ that he would likely spend such time in the lab with Dr. Zelenka trying to figure out Atlantis' latest quandary.

"Dial the gate," Weir commanded with a sigh of defeat as McKay joined his team members and the doctor in front of the gate below. The great metallic ring spun to life before spitting out its water-like spray. "Colonel Sheppard," she spoke into her radio. "You have a go." One by one they stepped into the wormhole, on their way to a planet where one of the other teams had found someone with some pretty impressive medicines. Rodney paused to look back at the brown-haired doctor that was accompanying them.

"You ready for this?" he questioned dubiously. "I distinctly remember you declaring your hate for this thing."

"Ah, well . . . this medicine could be an important breakthrough for everyone," the man responded. With that, the two men stepped across the event horizon to join the others. About ten minutes later, they strolled into the village where the healer had previously been encountered.

"Lallus?" echoed one of the villagers upon inquiry. "He's not here. He travels from village to village helping the sick. He . . . he left yesterday dawn when he did not hear back from your friends, but he'll be at the next village for several days, so you should be able to catch up with him."

"Alright, kids," Sheppard said cheerily. "Looks like we might have a field trip. Teyla, head back to the gate and tell Weir what's going on and ask her how she'd like us to proceed. The docs and I will have a look around." The woman nodded her understanding and turned back towards the Stargate.

"I'll go with her," Ronon volunteered, falling in step beside her. The air force colonel turned back to the villager.

"So . . . what's there to see around here?"

---

"Wow, that's really impressive," John uttered. They stood overlooking what seemed to be the entire planet, though naturally that wasn't true, but it was certainly several hundreds of miles of forest and plains. The place from which they caught this view had once been very nice, with built in benches and a fountain. The ground beneath their feet was made of what looked like concrete that had once been embedded with colorful mosaics. Years of weather, however, had wreaked their havoc and the floor was eroded, bushes and even a few trees growing up through cracks in the stone.

"Hundreds of years ago, when kings still ruled Vardis, the last princess had this place made so she could sit out here and see the view," their guide told them. "This is all that remains of the royal house—the peasants who overthrew the kings of old tore down the palace stone by stone."

"Too bad," the colonel murmured. He stepped towards the edge of the embankment, just able to hear the river at its base. The doctor was looking at the decrepit fountain.

"I wouldn't get too close," the native told the colonel anxiously. "It's not incredibly far, but very steep. There was once talk of building a staircase in the embankment so people wouldn't have to go around it's so steep."

"How long does it take to go around?" he asked, halting his forward motion.

"Two days," came the reply, "and then it takes four more to get to the nearest village in the valley."

"Why didn't they build the staircase?" John wanted to know, sort of standing on his toes to try to see over the edge without getting any closer. Rodney was taking energy readings with the palm scanner a few feet away.

"The soil in the embankment would not hold it—it is too soft. It erodes too easily."

"Dang," the colonel murmured.

"Colonel," Teyla's voice came over the radio.

"Yeah," he responded so she'd continue, but he missed what she said next as he watched McKay.

"That can't be right," the scientist muttered, his frown deepening, causing his forehead to wrinkle. He followed the anomalous readings with the device.

"What is it?" Sheppard asked. The medical doctor stopped what he was doing and stepped up beside him, casting his own questioning gaze upon the scientist.

"John?" Teyla questioned, realizing that he wasn't listening. "What is happening?"

"The readings . . ." Rodney muttered moving towards the embankment. "They're just not right for this entire area . . ."

"Sir!" their guide murmured anxiously as he stopped at the edge of the cliff.

"What this?" he cried incredulously, but was unable to finish his thought before the piece of concrete beneath him suddenly gave slightly, causing the device to slip from his hand and tumble partway down the embankment.

"Rodney!" John exclaimed as he and the doctor rushed forward to pull their companion back out of harm's way. Unfortunately, however, their efforts only worsened the situation as the chunk of ancient stone broke loose, carrying the Atlanteans with it . . .

---

_TBC_


	2. Inventory

Chapter 2: Inventory

Dr. Rodney McKay woke with a jerk and immediately wished he hadn't as his ribs and several muscles throughout his body cried out in protest. Sitting up, he blinked hard in an attempt to still the spinning landscape. He found that he was soaked from head to toe, his lower body immersed in water. It took him a moment to recall what had happened over the throbbing in his head, but when he had, he looked around, simultaneously reaching for his radio. It was missing. After a moment, he spotted someone a short distance away.

"Carson?" he murmured uncertainly, rising to his feet and nearly falling to the ground again as pain shot up his leg from his right ankle. Limping to avoid putting weight on the hurt appendage, he made his way over to his friend. "Carson?" The medical doctor groaned slightly as he slowly opened his bright blue eyes.

"Rodney?" he was momentarily disoriented as he remembered what had happened, unconsciously cradling his right arm. His radio was also gone.

"You alright?" Rodney asked, looking him over with concern. Carson took a moment to take mental inventory of his injuries.

"I've got a broken arm and my shoulder's been dislocated, but I'll live," he replied. "Where's Colonel Sheppard?" Rodney mentally struck himself in the forehead—he'd nearly forgotten about John! He turned quickly to look for him, much to the protest of his ribs and sore back muscles.

"Colonel!" he called. It was beginning to get dark. He helped Carson to his feet (which was difficult considering his dislocated shoulder was opposite his broken arm) and then made his way upstream as fast as his ankle would allow.

"Colonel!" Dr. Beckett added to his calls as they searched for their friend.

"Colonel!" McKay exclaimed, spotting the missing man a few feet away, his body still in the river. Rodney waded out to him, ignoring his own pain in order to drag him up on the shore. Carson knelt beside him and felt his pulse.

"He's alive," he announced with a sigh of relief. "But I'm afraid we're the lucky ones. In fact, if it had been any farther—or steeper, I don't think any of us would be in one piece."

"What do you mean?" his friend asked, not sure he wanted to the answer.

"He's lost a lot of blood," the doctor explained. "We need to find his injuries and stop the bleeding—and fast. I'm afraid that I won't be much help, though."

"I'll do it. Just . . . tell me what to do." Rodney was able to find one of the packs and with Dr. Beckett's instruction, he was able to locate John's injuries and bandage them up to stop the bleeding.

"You're doing a good job," Carson told him as he finished splinting the colonel's leg. He had had to pop the bone back into place.

"How do you do it?" he asked, gently examining the doctor's broken arm.

"It's what I do, Rodney," came the reply. "It's who I am." Rodney had torn up his jacket to make more bandages and was now using a strip to splint Carson's arm.

"You're stronger than I am," Rodney said, avoiding his gaze. "You care more."

"I don't believe for a second that's true," Carson told him. "I just have a different way of showing it."

"I _don't_ show it," the scientist murmured quietly. "Not the way I should."

"Rodney," he told him. "Your friends know you care about them." Rodney attempted a smile but didn't succeed very well.

"This is going to hurt," he warned, his eyes apologetic, as he got ready to pop the head of Carson's humerus back into its socket. The doctor grabbed a stick and bit down on it. "Ready?" Before he could respond, Rodney performed the necessary deed causing Carson to cry out in pain around the branch in his mouth. Tears sprang to his eyes.

"Oh! That hurts like bloody hell!" Carson exclaimed, spitting out the stick, his face contorted in agony.

"I'm sorry," Rodney said sympathetically, helping Carson with the sling he had already made for him. He moved away to pick up a few dry-looking pieces of wood from nearby.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm going to try to start a fire, assuming the lighter still works," he tossed them into a small pile. "It's, uh . . . it's getting dark and I don't want Sheppard—or us—to get cold."

"What about your injuries?" Carson demanded, with that tone only years of being a loving, caring physician could perfect.

"Well, I'm not bleeding and I don't have any, uh, bones sticking out, so I'll take care of them when I'm finished," Rodney answered trying to sound as nonchalant as he could, but in truth, he was on the verge of a classic McKay panic. He recalled what he'd once told John nearly three years before: _"I react to certain doom a certain way—it's a bad habit . . ." (1)  
_

"Looks like we're screwed again," he murmured to his unconscious teammate, trying to find something with which to start the fire.

"What's that?" Carson wanted to know. Rodney had managed to get the fire started and took seat on the ground nearby, wincing as such an action jostled his ribs.

"I was just remembering when the jumper was lodged in the gate," he replied. He leaned forward to examine his ankle and grimaced to find that, though he'd believed he wasn't bleeding anywhere, the skin on his knee had been split open and was still sluggishly oozing blood.

"Let me have a look 't you," Carson ordered, coming up beside him and motioning for him to remove his t-shirt.

"What, you want me to take off my shirt _here_?" his patient demanded.

"Rodney, I've gotta see how bad you're injured. Now, I know you've hurt your ribs—I can tell by the way you're movin'." Reluctantly, Rodney obeyed the unspoken command. "Tell me if this hurts," the doctor said, gingerly feeling his friend's ribs.

"Ouch! Yes—it hurts!" McKay complained, pulling away, though not as vigorously as he would've had he not been in pain.

"Alright, I need you to take a strip of your jacket and wrap it around your ribcage as snug as you can," he told him.

"How bad is it?" Rodney wanted to know, grimacing in pain as he followed the directions given to him.

"It's hard to say," Carson admitted, "but I'd guess they're just cracked and prob'ly bruised a bit. Not much can be done for it, even if were back on Atlantis. Now that knee looks pretty bad—definitely needs stitches . . ."

"We don't have any," the scientist told him, putting his shirt back on. At this point, he face held a permanent expression of pain.

"Well, then, I guess you'll just have to bandage it up as best you can—and that ankle too." Rodney nodded as he tied a strip of cloth about his knee. It was a good thing he only had his ankle to bandage after that, for he was almost out of jacket. "Rodney," Carson said suddenly. "Look at me."

"What?" he asked hesitantly as he met his friend's worried gaze.

"How's your head?"

"I have a terrible headache and my vision's a bit fuzzy, actually," Rodney responded. ". . . why?"

"I thought so," Dr. Beckett said grimly. "It looks like you've taken a nasty blow to the head." Rodney's eyes widened fearfully as he reached up a hand to the side of his head. There was something sticky matting the hair above his ear. He held his hand out in the flickering firelight: blood. He looked at the doctor incredulously.

"You're not saying this is like the time when I was trapped in the jumper at the bottom of the ocean . . ."

"Aye," Carson murmured worriedly. "Rodney, if you fall asleep before we're found . . . you might not wake up again."

"Oh, my god . . ." Rodney uttered, his heart dropping into his stomach. "I'm a dead man!"

---

(1) S1 Ep4 "38 Minutes"

---

_TBC_

A/N: I intend to include flashbacks and/or memories to different scenes throughout the series/the characters' lives, so if you have any ideas of what would go good in the story, let me know. And as always, I would love your feedback! -DP


	3. Options

A/N: I edited the last line of Chapter 2 so that it's now two lines. I decided it just wasn't quite right to have Carson so blunt.

Anyhow, a huge thanks to all of you who have reviewed! And also to my good friend, Ebbtide, who has read and commented on each chapter before I've posted it. Finally, a grand thanks to the transcribers at Gatenoise, who I have gone to for reference.

Now, for

**Chapter 3: Options**

---

"Rodney?" Dr. Beckett looked at his friend. Rodney McKay was staring straight ahead, the wheels in his head obviously churning. "Rodney?"

"I'm, uh . . . I'm forgetting something, I," he stopped suddenly and looked at him "How did you get here?" his question came out of nowhere.

"How'd I get here?" Carson repeated, surprised. "I took a bloody tumble down the embankment with you an' Colonel Sheppard! That's how I got here. Why?"

"Well, it seems . . . right. Of course you did. I remember now," the scientist murmured. "But I'm still forgetting something . . . I-I found something with the scanner before we fell, but I just . . ." He struggled to remember.

"You said the readings were off for the entire area," Carson prompted. Rodney turned his head thoughtfully.

"The readings . . . right—something about the readings," he chanted to himself until it suddenly struck him. "The readings! Oh, god . . ."

"What is it?" Carson asked.

"They won't be able to locate us with the scanners," Rodney explained. "There's something, like some sort of mineral, in the soil that throws off electronic equipment. The-the cement, the floor, where we were standing was able to, uh, act like a kind of shield so the readings were only partially off. I couldn't figure it out until I was at the edge of the embankment."

"Then they'll just follow the river 'till they find us," said the doctor.

"No. I mean—yes, of course they will, but they have no way of knowing how far we were washed downstream," Rodney's tone had reached 'panic' mode. "For all they know, we're buried in the dirt and debris that carried us down the embankment."

"So, what do we do?" his friend inquired. Rodney could just make out his features in the flickering firelight.

"Well," McKay began. "We could, ah, stay here and hope they find us before Sheppard and me are dead, or we could, um . . . we could move away from the embankment and hope that the mineral throwing off the equipment is just in the side of the cliff and river and not the entire valley."

"What if we follow the river upstream?" the doctor suggested.

"That is our third option," Rodney told him. "And probably our best one, considering . . . The colonel probably shouldn't be moved, but if we stay here, we're probably both dead." He looked grimly at their unconscious friend.

"I think you're right," Carson agreed, "But how do you plan to move him? I can't really help you carry him and you can't exactly do so yourself."

"What makes you say so?" Rodney demanded, his ego rising.

"You know what I meant," Carson sighed. His friend raised his chin in stubborn defiance.

"I'll, uh . . . I'll think of something," the scientist declared.

" 'Course you will," Carson murmured somewhat dubiously, but he pursued the issue no farther.

---

_About an hour or so before dawn_

"Carson," McKay gently shook his friend's shoulder. "Carson, we should—we should get moving."

"How long was I asleep for?" Dr. Beckett asked, squinting in the pre-dawn light as he moved into a sitting position.

"Several hours," came the response. "I was the only one awake. It was . . . somewhat terrifying, really."

"I'm sorry," the doctor apologized. "I should've stayed up with you to make sure you stayed awake."

"No. No, it's fine—nothing like the threat of impending doom to keep one, uh, shall we say, wakeful?"

"Rodney, you're not going to die," Carson tried to convince him.

"As long I stay awake," Rodney corrected. "Shall we, ah, start moving?" Carson looked over at Colonel Sheppard and the dwindling campfire. Rodney had managed to rig a cot of some kind with two long pole-like branches and canvas from the pack.

"How did you have enough material . . ?" Carson began.

"Ah," Rodney answered. "My ankle started to hurt, so I, uh, I thought maybe soaking it might help. When I got to the water, I saw the other pack so I grabbed it. Sheppard had an entire roll of duct tape that was still usable, surprisingly."

"Very well, but I still can't help you carry him."

"You don't have to. See, if we strap him to the cot, I can pull him by one end and let other drag along behind."

"That'd be quite some ride," the doctor sounded doubtful. "It might jostle him too much."

"Look, I figure the closer we are to where they start to search, the sooner they'll be able to find us," McKay spoke irritably. "If you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it."

"I guess it'll have to do."

"Great, then let's go," he got John onto the cot and after using strips from the second pack's extra bandages to tie him to it, he lifted the poles near his head, wincing as such an action caused his ribs to ache with greater intensity, not to mention the added weight on his ankle.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Carson asked anxiously, obviously worried.

"Well, we don't have any choice, now do we?" Rodney did his best to sound like his typical self, but the fact that he was in pain seeped through his sarcastic tone.

"I guess not," his friend admitted. Managing a grim smile, Rodney took a step forward, biting down on his lower lip to keep from crying out as pain shot up his leg. About ten minutes later, he paused to glance back, disheartened to find that the camp was still in sight. This was going to be harder than he had thought.

---

"Rodney," Carson's voice was urgent. "Rodney!"

"I'm awake!" the man jumped. "I'm awake!" The mere thought that he'd begun to doze startled him into full consciousness. They had stopped to rest and to eat a little. Rodney all but jumped up from his position against a tree.

"Rodney . . ?" another voice whispered almost incoherently.

"Colonel?" McKay crouched beside his battered friend.

"Rodney . . ." his lips were moving slightly even though his eyes remained shut.

"Hang in there, Sheppard . . . buddy," his teammate told him, tears misting his eyes. "We're, uh, we're gonna get you outta here—to the infirmary . . ." He checked the man's bandages, thankful to find that the bleeding hadn't started up again.

"Rodney?" Carson inquired.

"He's, uh, he's alright for now . . . I think," Rodney's voice trembled audibly.

"Aye," the doctor agreed, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're doing the best that you can."

"But . . . what if it's not enough?"

"It will be," Carson assured him. "We should continue."

"Yeah, ah—I guess you're right," he said, rising slowly to his feet. He found that doing so no longer caused his ankle to hurt more because the pain had become constant after dragging the colonel for several hours.

"Talk to me," Dr. Beckett commanded as they moved along.

"About what?" McKay asked, grimacing as one of the poles slipped into a hole, causing a sudden increase of pain in his ribcage and already sore back.

"How'd you first get involved in the Stargate Program?"

"Well, I started working at Area 51," the scientist replied. "I was there for a little over a year before the SGC sought out my help a few years back, when, ah, Teal'c was stuck in the Stargate. Colonel Carter fell for me almost immediately. Of course, she was a major back then." He smiled to himself at the memory of the blonde-haired woman.

"Really now?" Carson was skeptical.

"Well, there might have been a little tension . . ."

"_The Pentagon feels Dr. McKay has become the world's foremost expert on the Gate," Colonel Simmons told General Hammond._

"_After Major Carter," the man corrected._

"_Well, with all due respect, Major," Rodney said, "you spend most of your time in the field." She looked at him incredulously._

"_Major Carter spent two years working on the Gate prior to her five years of service at the SGC," General Hammond informed him. "She's the one who made this program viable."_

"_Actually the interface she designed is full of flaws."_

"_Well I admit it's not perfect," Sam defended herself, "but it's…" _

"_It has caused numerous unnecessary situations any of which could have ended in catastrophe." (1)_

"A little bit?" his friend was still unconvinced.

"_I wish I didn't find you so attractive—I've always had a real weakness for dumb blondes."_

"_Go suck a lemon!" (1)_

"Okay, so maybe there was a lot," Rodney confessed. "It's only because she felt threatened because she realized how truly brilliant I was."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Major Carter right that time?" Carson asked.

"Well, she's not always right!" he sputtered. "She almost destroyed a planet by burrowing a wormhole through the planet's _sun_!" (2)

"Wasn't it you who destroyed an entire solar system?" (3)

"Five-sixths of a solar system," McKay automatically corrected him. "And that's besides the point." Carson chuckled softly. "How did you become involved in the Stargate Program?" Rodney returned the question.

"Well, you know," Carson told him. "I was called down to help in Antarctica where I discover the ATA gene, that and the fact that I'm one of the few who possess it naturally, which of course led to me coming to Pegasus."

"Naturally," murmured McKay.

"How much farther do you think it is?" the doctor asked as they paused for a short break. Thus far, they had been able to follow the river.

"I'm not sure," Rodney answered honestly, looking at the embankment despairingly. "It's impossible to tell—I don't even know how long a day is here and unfortunately, the water caused my watch to stop working."

"I thought your watch was water-resistant," Carson replied.

"Yeah, well, so did I. Looks like we're both wrong," he sighed. Dr. Beckett glanced ahead.

"We're going have to take to the trees," he noted.

"Yes, I see that," McKay responded. The bank along the edge of the river upstream narrowed rapidly until it disappeared. "And once we do, they won't be able to see us through the trees."

"They'll search on foot as well," Carson pointed out. "You said yourself that the closer we get to where we fell, the sooner we'll run into them."

"That could take days!" Rodney became sarcastic, finally giving in to the panic that had seized him the moment he woke up. "And what if they're searching the _other side_ of the river? Then what? For all intents and purposes, the moment we enter those woods, we are as good as dead."

"Rodney . . ." his friend began, but he cut him off.

"DEAD!"

---

_TBC . . ._

_---_

(1) SG-1 5x17 "48 Hours"

(2) SG-1 5x05 "Red Sky"

(3) 2x06 "Trinity

--

A/N: Hey, be sure to tell me what you think! Hope you liked it . . .


	4. Trudging Onward

**Chapter 4: Trudging Onward**

"For all intents and purposes, the moment we enter those woods, we're as good as dead!" Rodney declared.

"Rodney . . ." Dr. Beckett began.

"DEAD!" the scientist interrupted vehemently, his panic seizing control of him. "As is, no longer breathing, food for the worms or whatever the hell they have out here, pushing up daisies! We enter those woods and we will never . . ."

"RODNEY!" Carson shouted suddenly. "Snap out of it!" The man was stunned into silence. "You're not gonna die. Colonel Sheppard's not gonna die—I won't hear of it. Now, if we stay here, we might be seen from a jumper, but if they're searching primarily on foot, they probably won't reach us in time—at least not for the colonel. I can't tell you what to do, but it seems the best option is to move into the trees and keep going. Either way, I'm not gonna just stand by and watch the two of you die." Rodney just stared at him for a moment.

"We, ah . . . we don't have much time, do we?" he asked finally.

"Aye," the doctor admitted. "You don't. 'Specially Colonel Sheppard."

"Oh, god . . . we might not make it," the scientist murmured.

"You've got to think positive!" Carson urged.

"I'm not very good at that," Rodney said. "I'm much better at seeing the negative side of things." Dr. Beckett pressed his lips together for a moment before stepping closer to his friend.

"Rodney, I know you're scared of what might happen, but if you give up now, you're condemning not only yourself, but Colonel Sheppard, to death," he spoke grimly, looking into his eyes. "I know you don't want that."

"He's, uh, kinda important to the expedition," Rodney noted.

"Aye, and so are you," Carson told him. Taking a deep, though shuddering breath, McKay reached down and took up the poles of the cot. He briefly wondered how such an action could possibly be causing him pain when he felt so numb.

"Shall we, uh, shall we go?" the scientist asked, nodding in the direction they needed to take. Carson placed a hand on his shoulder and gave an encouraging smile.

"Aye," he said.

---

"So we flew around in the jumper for the next hour and a half trying to find the Stargate, wondering how in the world Sheppard managed to lose it," Rodney was finishing off a story as they walked along. "It turns out that we were looking in the wrong place the whole time. I still haven't let him live that one down."

"Sounds like a fond memory," Carson noted. They been traveling for several hours, their pace gradually growing slower and slower.

"I, uh, I gotta stop," McKay finally admitted. He lowered the cot down and all but fell to the ground beside it. "How are the, um . . . arms doing?" he asked, looking up at the doctor.

"I think I'm getting used to the pain," Carson smiled. "I'm fine, Rodney—I've been a heck of a lot worse."

"Here," the scientist said, pulling out a power bar from the small stash that they had. "Eat something."

"Why, thank you," he accepted the offering as Rodney turned to check on their friend's injuries.

"Has he started bleeding again?" the physician asked as the scientist sat back with a sigh.

"No, but his pulse has gotten weaker," McKay answered. "I, uh, I think we're starting to lose him."

"No," Carson told him. "You can't think that way." He pressed a power bar into Rodney's hand. "How are you holding up?"

"Oh, you know . . . bad headache, concussion, ankle screaming in pain—oh, and don't forget the overwhelming feeling that my life's about to end," came the response. "Typical mission, really."

"Rodney . . ."

"I'm just—I'm just so confused," Rodney said, tears glistening in his eyes. "I mean . . . my life wasn't supposed to be like this. I-I feel like I haven't slept for weeks and that-that this is some horrible, horrible dream and that I'm gonna wake up and find that it's started all over again. Like a—a living nightmare."

"But that's not true," Carson assured him, his accent adding to his soothing tone. "Lots of good things have happened."

"Yeah, but-but in my dreams . . ."

"Don't say it," Dr. Beckett commanded as though he could read his mind. "Rodney, this isn't the first trial you've been through. Remember the withdrawals you suffered when you took the wraith enzyme?"

"Yeah," Rodney chuckled at the memory. "I thought you were trying to kill me—I even said so."

"Aye, and that's not all you said . . ."

"_This is fun for you, isn't it, watching me like this?" Rodney accused frantically from the infirmary bed._

"_I assure you, it's not," Dr. Beckett said, his expression full of sympathy for his suffering friend._

"_What is this, payback?" his patient cried angrily. "You're jealous, huh? Jealous of how vital I am to this mission—vital, vital—jealous of how I get to go off-world and, and you get stuck in this stupid, pathetic excuse for a hospital!"_

"_You know that's not true," Carson patiently told the man._

"_Jealous I get all the women and you don't!" McKay screeched._

"_Excuse me?!" (1)_

"Oh—I did not say that!" Rodney declared, pausing in the middle of taking a drink of water from their one canteen.

"Aye, but you did," Carson grinned good-naturedly. "But the point is that you pulled through then and on many different occasions—this time need not be any different. We should keep going."

"I'm not sure I can."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My ankle an-and my ribs and just about every muscle in my body is aching," the scientist explained. "I'm, uh, I'm just not strong enough."

"Rodney," Carson insisted, pulling the man up as best he could with his injured arms, wincing as he did so (fortunately, Rodney didn't really resist). "You have to keep going." Rodney gazed at the terrain ahead of them and then back at John.

"You're right," he said finally. He once again took up his burden, groaning with the painful effort. Carson regarded him sympathetically.

"Talk to me, Rodney," he said, falling in step behind him. He knew that talking helped take McKay's mind off the pain of each step.

"Okay," Rodney complied. "Well, um, let's see . . . did you hear about the time when Zelenka and I discovered some sort of, uh-uh, what do you call . . . physics lab . . ?"

---

(1) 2x11 "The Hive"

---

_TBC . . ._

A/N: Thank you to all of you who have reviewed and have kept an eye out for minor (and not-so-minor) mistakes. Be sure to let me know what you think! Hope you like it . . .


	5. Confusion

A/N: I got this chapter done a little more quickly than the others. As always, thanks for the reviews and be sure to let me know what you think.

Enough of me . . .

**Chapter 5: Confusion**

Automatic gunfire erupted from somewhere to his left.

"Fall back to the gate!" Colonel Sheppard ordered. Dr. Rodney McKay fired a few shots with his .9mm at the approaching wraith. Teyla, the bearer of the P-90 being fired, took down one of their aggressors as he leveled his weapon at the scientist. Far to the man's right, Ronon was making shots with his gun.

"McKay!" John was suddenly beside him, grabbing him by the vest. "We've gotta go—NOW!" They turned and began to run towards the Stargate, but Rodney's limbs were sluggish, as though the ground beneath him was made of thick sticky mud. Suddenly, he took a stun blast to the side of the head. He fell to the ground.

"Rodney!" Ronon? No, wasn't deep enough. Teyla? No, it wasn't her . . . and it wasn't John, but it sounded so familiar . . . He knew that voice.

"Rodney!" it came again more insistent, louder, and closer. He could feel a faint breeze on his face . . . or maybe that was breath. Geez—they were close!

"McKay!" Sheppard's shout was drowned out by the much louder mystery voice.

"Rodney—you _must _wake up! You've fallen asleep," the person, whoever it was, was frantic. Asleep? No . . . he and his team were being chased by wraith . . . and—and the Stargate kept getting farther and farther away . . . Asleep? He'd fallen asleep?! Rodney shook his head, forcing his eyes open as the wraith fell upon him.

"Carson?" he murmured, finally getting his eyelids to obey his command to open. "Carson?!" Dr. Beckett's concerned face filled his line of vision. The doctor smiled in relief.

"Rodney," he said, almost laughing for joy. "You gave me a terrible fright."

"How long was I out for?" McKay asked, still not feeling entirely conscious.

"I'm not sure," Carson answered. "But considering our situation, it was far too long." It was early in the morning, several hours before dawn, and the campfire had nearly burned out. Rodney put a couple branches on it as he slowly made his way over to Colonel Sheppard.

"This is not good," he muttered as he checked on their friend.

"What is it?" the doctor inquired anxiously. "He's not . . . is he?"

"No," the scientist answered, tugging the cot a little closer to the fire, "but he's cold—very, very cold." He frowned with worry (and from the incessant ache in his head).

"Here," Carson said, removing his jacket as quickly as he could and handing to him. "It's not much, but it might help a bit."

"Okay," Rodney blinked wearily as he wrapped the garment around Sheppard's shoulders. Sitting back, he turned to stare into the fire. Carson stood a short distance away. They remained silent for a bit until Rodney reached out to put more wood on the fire.

"Don't!" Carson spoke suddenly, startling him. "We should be going."

"Carson, it's not even light," Rodney began. "My ankle . . ."

"I know," the Scot interrupted. "But we have to go. We haven't got time to stay here . . . I think a storm's coming." He gazed up at the ominous sky.

"Wait—how . . ?"

"Just trust me," Carson insisted, meeting Rodney's gaze. "We've gotta go." McKay tossed the branch aside, still not sure what to make of his friend's seemingly sudden shift in behavior. He stood up and took a hold of the cot.

"Right," Carson said, seeing that Rodney was ready to continue, "let's go." For the first time, Carson took the lead. It seemed that he'd been correct about the impending storm, for the early morning dark had begun to turn into an inky blackness. The doctor was walking far enough ahead that Rodney could just barely see his back.

Rodney's ankle was killing him, his ribs and head throbbing dully, and it seemed that John was getting heavier and heavier. It took several moments for him to realize they were going uphill . . . a big hill, in his estimation. Already his breathing was becoming heavy as he tried to keep up with Carson. In addition, he was beginning to feel strangely light-headed and his limbs felt so . . . heavy. McKay slowed to a halt, lowering Sheppard's cot to the ground. He had to stop. He had to—to sleep. The scientist dropped slowly to his knees, barely registering the pain as the gash in his one knee broke open again, his eyelids beginning to shut.

"Rodney!" Carson was suddenly at his side.

"Just . . . just a few minutes," Rodney murmured pleadingly.

"On your feet, son," his friend commanded, lifting him up. "Keep moving."

"Bu-but what about Sheppard?" McKay uttered. "We—we can't . . ."

"We'll come back for him," Carson spoke firmly. "I've got to get you to the top of this hill." Rodney limped onward, Carson lending himself as support, urging him on. The man was confused—he couldn't understand his friend's haste. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure he knew what was going on, though he vaguely recalled something about dying and sleep. After a few moments, he stumbled and fell.

"Rodney!" his friend exclaimed.

"You—you like fishing, don't you?" McKay asked, barely coherent. "You asked me to go t-two or-or three times before, b-but I was always busy . . . if, if we live—I promise I'll . . . I'll go sometime . . ."

"Rodney," Carson spoke into his ear, "you gotta keep moving." He helped him back to his feet. Sometime later—it could've minutes, or hours, Rodney could no longer tell—he found himself at the edge of a wide meadow. _How?_ his mind questioned. Lost, he looked around as he stumbled again, but he couldn't see Carson. The wind . . . _wind?_ . . . was in blowing his eyes as he found himself lying on the ground. Wait . . . was that—was that a jumper?

"Dr. McKay?" an unfamiliar feminine face hovered over him. He squinted at her.

"Rodney?" He knew that voice.

"Radek?" Rodney murmured.

"Rodney—where is Colonel Sheppard?" his fellow scientist asked. It had started to rain.

"He's . . . that way," McKay motioned in the direction he had left his friend. "I—I can't . . . what? How . . ?" he murmured, unable to form a complete sentence. He was so confused.

"Rodney—I need you stay with me," Zelenka was saying. Somehow, though Rodney couldn't figure it out, he had ended up in the Jumper. "Rodney . . ?"

- - -

_On Atlantis, some time later_

"Doctor, how are they?" Weir asked as she entered the infirmary. The blond-haired woman glanced down at her clipboard as they made their way towards her newest patients.

"They're very, very lucky," the physician answered. "Dr. McKay has a pretty serious concussion along with some cracked ribs and a broken ankle, not to mention some relatively minor cuts and bruises. Colonel Sheppard also took a few good blows to head, but that'd only cause a minor concussion. He did, however, lose a lot of blood, not only from external wounds but also some minor internal bleeding as well, so we've got him hooked up to an IV. Dr. McKay was able to properly set Colonel Sheppard's broken leg, but we had to perform a bit of surgery to patch up the rest of him. All in all, I'd say they should alright, but we'll keep a close eye on them. If they hadn't been found when they were, I doubt either of them would still be alive."

"The search team was about to call off the search because of the storm," Dr. Weir commented, her stomach churning at the thought.

"Like I said: they are extremely lucky."

"Please, I—I just wanna talk to him," they heard McKay telling a nurse sluggishly as they rounded the corner.

"Dr. McKay—I didn't expect to see you awake," the medical doctor greeted.

"Dr. Keller," the nurse smiled respectfully at her superior before quietly taking her leave.

"Rodney," Elizabeth said, moving to his side. "How are you feeling?"

"E-Elizabeth," he met her gaze with earnest, searching eyes, reaching out and taking a hold of her wrist. "Wh-where is he? I . . . I haven't seen him. He—he had a broken arm and a . . and a dislocated shoulder from the fall. He's gotta be here . . ."

"Rodney, who are you talking about?" the woman asked softly, casting a confused look back at Dr. Keller.

"Carson," Rodney answered impatiently, the painkiller addling his mind. "I couldn't have made it without him . . . I gotta talk to him." Dr. Weir looked at him in surprise. Pulling up a chair, she sat down, taking his hand in hers.

"Rodney," she said gently, hesitantly, tears stinging her eyes. "Rodney—Carson . . . Carson's dead."

---

_TBC . . ._


	6. Illness

A/N: Things aren't always what they seem—particularly in sci fi.

**Chapter 6: Illness  
**

"What?" Rodney questioned, suddenly more coherent despite the effects of the drugs. "No—that's not possible . . . h-his, his injuries weren't that serious . . ." The scientist looked at the two women in confusion.

"Dr. Beckett wasn't with you and the colonel," Dr. Keller said softly. "He was killed a few weeks ago."

"That's . . . that's not possible," McKay whispered. Damn sedatives! He couldn't think straight.

"It was a horrible accident," Dr. Weir told him. "It shouldn't have happened, but it did."

"What? What happened?" the man demanded. Elizabeth cast a glance at Dr. Keller.

"He must have suppressed the memories," the doctor replied. The leader of the Atlantis expedition turned back to face the man in the bed.

"A-a member of Lt. Norman's team was seriously injured off-world," Dr. Weir began shakily. "Carson went to assist. On—on their back to, to the space gate, their puddle jumper was attacked and shot down . . . by a wraith hive ship. There were—there were no survivors, Rodney . . . I'm so sorry." She wiped a tear from her cheek and gently squeezed his hand.

"No!" he exclaimed, pulling his hand from her grasp. "That can't be true—I don't believe you! Where's Colonel Sheppard? I want to see him."

"The colonel is still unconscious," Dr. Keller said. "He'll probably remain that way for another day at least."

"Oh, how terribly convenient," Rodney snarked. He winced, putting a hand to his temple.

"Headache?" Keller asked. "I'll have the nurse give you something . . ."

"No," he protested. "I, uh—I don't want anything." The physician raised an eyebrow.

"Rodney," Dr. Weir admonished. McKay sighed in defeat and Keller gave instructions to one of the nurses. "You're going to be fine, Rodney," Weir encouraged.

"Then," Rodney asked, focusing hard to get out his sentence as the effects of his latest dose of painkiller took effect. "Then, why do I feel like thi--this is . . . some sort of sick . . sick dream?" Little did he know how right he really was . . .

---

_A week earlier (1)  
_

When Teyla had expressed her concerned for Rodney, Colonel Sheppard at first made light of the situation. In truth he had noticed how the scientist had been behaving differently, almost as though he could no longer quite handle his few and scattered hours of sleep and hectic schedule. Ronon claimed he hadn't noticed anything at all, but then . . . that was probably true, actually.

"Look," John promised her. "You're probably right—I'll talk to him." They shared a knowing look. Everyone was a little worried, just nobody had really expected McKay to take it quite so hard. The rest of the team and a doctor—Dr. Markham?—anyway, a young brown-haired doctor who loathed gate travel even more than Carson, if that were possible, waited in the gate room while Rodney finished up some last minute things in the control room.

"You need more sleep," Elizabeth noted. In fact, she thought the scientist looked even tireder that he usually did, perhaps a bit pale, even, and she was pretty sure she knew why.

"Everyone needs more sleep," he predictably responded. Weir tried again.

"After this mission, I'm putting your team on stand-down until you all get a little more rest."

"Ah, well—if you think so," Rodney shrugged. She took a hold of his arm as he turned to go.

"Rodney," the woman told him quietly, "you can't blame yourself for Carson's illness—it was an accident."

"No," he shook his head. "Elizabeth—if I hadn't asked for his assistance, Carson would've been in the infirmary where he belongs." McKay grimaced at his unfortunate choice of words.

"Then, you probably would've insisted that Dr. Zelenka postpone his experiment, then you or he would be sick instead."

"Well," Rodney said, his eyes a bit misty, "then, at least Carson would be there to figure out how to make us better." Dr. Weir sighed in defeat as he went to join the others waiting below.

"Dial the gate," she said.

---

_Vardis (the alien planet)_

John, Rodney, and the doctor looked out over the valley. It was quite breathtaking actually—with lush green stretching out before them as far as the eye could see. The colonel silently thought it might make a good vacation spot. Markham was examining the long-since decrepit fountain and McKay was taking readings with the Ancient palm device while their guide prattled on about the planet's history, to which John was only partially paying attention.

"Colonel," Teyla's voice came over the radio. Finally.

"Yeah," he returned, waiting for her to continue.

"That can't be right," Rodney muttered in confusion, blinking as the readings seemed to become distorted before his eyes.

"What is it?" John asked, no longer listening to Teyla. Dr. Markham came up beside him, looking at the scientist with mild concern.

"John?" the Athosian suddenly realized she wasn't being heard. Unexpectedly, Rodney staggered, the device slipping from his hand.

"Rodney!" his teammate shouted. Both he and the doctor rushed forward to catch him as he fell limply to the ground. "Rodney?" John repeated, cradling his friend in his arms. He directed his attention to Markham. "What's happening to him?" he demanded.

"I-I'm not sure," Markham answered, quickly checking the man's vitals. "He's burning up and--I think I've seen this before . . . we need to get him back to Atlantis, right away." John wasn't sure he liked the doctor's expression.

---

_The Infirmary_

"And you're sure that they have the same thing?" Elizabeth was asking as she walked alongside Dr. Keller towards one of the isolation rooms.

"Without a doubt," the blonde answered.

"Then how come it took Rodney so long to show any symptoms? I mean, Carson fell sick almost immediately."

"My guess is it's directly proportional to their amount of exposure to the virus," Keller theorized. "You see, Dr. Beckett was exposed to the, well, mist when it first infiltrated the chamber and by the time Dr. McKay got to him, it had pretty much dissipated. As for symptoms . . . well, initially his body showed no sign of the virus, which is why I cleared him for duty, but some of the others have noticed a slight change in his behavior. Dr. Zelenka, for instance, said that Dr. McKay has been making an unusual number of small mistakes, while the workers in the mess claim that they saw him only once in four days. As Colonel Sheppard put it, he's apparently been acting slightly 'un-McKayish.' Either way, I think the symptoms were there, we just mistook them for something else."

"Is it contagious?" Elizabeth asked as they stopped outside the room to look in at her two friends.

"I'm inclined to say no, but there's really no way to know for sure. It'd probably be best to examine everyone Dr. McKay has been in contact with the last few days, just to be sure."

"How close are we to solving this?"

"Dr. Zelenka and his team are still working on it," the doctor replied. "I'll keep you updated on their condition." She left to go tend to her other patients as Dr. Weir remained outside the isolation room wondering what, precisely, the two men had gotten themselves into.

---

_(1) A week earlier, being the amount of time from the 'present' back to the day the team went to Vardis._

A/N: As always be sure to let me know what you think. I hope I haven't confused ya'll too much--if you have any questions feel free to ask, but I'll try to keep things straight for you . . .


	7. One Small Blunder

A/N: I'm sorry for any confusion I might've caused, but stick with me and I will do my best to straighten things out. If not, just ask me and I'll post a little "what's going on" note at the start of the next chapter.

As always, thanks to all you who've reviewed! Now . . .

**Chapter 7: One Small Blunder  
**

_Eleven days before the present  
_

"Radek," McKay began as he entered the lab where the Czech was working.

"No," he responded without looking up from what he was doing.

"You have no idea what I'm about to say!" Rodney protested.

"Oh, yes, I do," Radek said, setting up a piece of equipment. "You found some sort of Ancient viral lab and you want me to leave what I'm doing to help you check it out." He stopped to look at his colleague. "Am I right?"

"Well, yes," McKay answered. "But . . ."

"BUT—I am already working on something else, and," he held up a silencing finger as Rodney opened his mouth to object. "AND I have waited two months—_two months—_to perform this experiment because I have been helping _you_ with one of your projects. So, my answer is no. Find somebody else to help you." Zelenka returned to what he was doing, leaving McKay momentarily silenced.

"Alright," the man finally replied. "Thank you for your, um . . . time." He turned and left the room.

"Uh-huh," Radek murmured, consulting his data pad. He quirked a small smile—it wasn't often that Rodney had nothing to say. Meanwhile, McKay approached three other scientists, two of which were already engrossed in other projects and a third whom he had decided not to ask at the last moment because . . . well, he wasn't about to spend any time alone with the guy.

"Oh, come on," the scientist muttered under his breath. "There's got to be someone with nothing better to do."

--

"Rodney!" Dr. Carson Beckett greeted in surprise as he looked up to see his friend stroll into the infirmary. "Are you feeling sick?"

"No!" Rodney answered. "Why—do I look sick?" the scientist was suddenly concerned.

"No. It's just you usually avoid this place."

"Ah. Well," McKay sort of shrugged. "Now, I was wondering—how would you like an excuse to get out of here for awhile?"

"Out of here?" Carson echoed.

"Yes," Rodney answered, "at least for several hours, maybe even a couple days."

"To do what?" the medical doctor wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

"I, uh, found another Ancient viral lab and I was wondering if you wanted to help me check it out," the scientist looked at him hopefully. "I, um . . I asked Radek but he was busy with something else."

"I can't just leave, Rodney," Carson began. "I have patients . . ."

"None of which are critically injured and can easily be taken care of by the slew of other doctors," Rodney interrupted. "If you're needed, they can contact you over the radio. Besides, it's very likely that the lab contains some, uh, kinda . . medical research you can use. . . . Please, Carson?"

"Please?"

"Yes, I said 'please.' I do happen to have manners."

"You'd really like for me to help you," Carson said, a bit awed.

"Well, uh . . . yes. Yes, I would," Rodney admitted uncomfortably. "Two people can get the work done faster than just one," he added, still a bit too egotistical to be able to admit he just wanted the company. Carson knew better and took the fact that Rodney had even asked for his help as a compliment.

"Alright," he finally agreed. "I guess the other doctors can take care of things here for a bit . . ."

"Then—that's a yes?" McKay asked in surprise. His previously failures to obtain assistance had left him doubtful of his power of persuasion.

"That's a yes," Carson smiled. Rodney raised a hand in the air as though he were about to say something profound.

"Thank you," he finally said. "Thank you."

---

_A couple hours later_

"Is it just me or is this lab smaller with twice as much stuff?" Dr. Beckett asked, looking around the lab McKay had recently found.

"You mean than the lab with the virus that caused the freaky visions and brain aneurysms?" Rodney asked and Carson nodded. "It's not smaller, it just has twice as much stuff. Not to mention larger equipment . . ." He looked down at his computer pad.

"It is safe to be in here, right?" Carson asked uncertainly, realizing he'd failed to ask earlier.

"You mean are all the viruses properly contained?" The doctor gave his friend an aggravated look.

"Yes, Rodney," he said with a hint of sarcasm, "that's exactly what I mean." Rodney glanced at him, both slightly surprised and mildly pleased that he'd managed to get on the good doctor's nerves.

"It's perfectly safe," Rodney assured him. "I had a couple marines in hazmat suits go over the place twice. Half this stuff probably doesn't even work anymore. Any viruses within these walls are right where they're supposed to be. Now, to figure out what the Ancients were using all this, um . . . fancy equipment for."

"Aye," Carson agreed. The brown haired doctor slowly made his way about the lab as Rodney worked on interfacing his data pad with the control console. Some of the items were similar to those that might've been found in a lab back on Earth, whereas others were so unique that he could only begin to imagine their purpose. Near the middle of the room was a sort of glass case. It reminded Dr. Beckett a lot of a shower, actually, only it was half the size. He opened the door to get a closer look at the three sprayers inside.

"Carson!" Dr. McKay practically shouted, and quite suddenly. Carson jumped, wheeling to face his friend.

"Was that necessary?" he demanded. "You gave me a bloody heart attack!"

"What do you think you're doing?" Rodney wanted to know.

"You said it was safe!"

"Because all the viruses are still properly contained! At least they were," McKay checked something on his computer pad before looking back up at him. "Fortunately, you haven't managed to release something that may have proven detrimental to both our healths."

"Sorry," Carson muttered, a hurt expression crossing his face.

"It's fine," Rodney told him, suddenly a bit uncomfortable. "I know you're not some . . . um, idiot—I shouldn't have snapped at you . . ." he mumbled the last part so that he could hardly be heard, but Carson caught the apology and the fact that his friend wasn't quite so socially inept as he had started out wasn't lost on him. The medical doctor joined his friend behind the control console.

"So what precisely were they doing in here?" Carson asked.

"That's what I'm trying to find out," came the reply.

"Dr. McKay to the control room," a voice came over the comm system. "Dr. McKay to the control room." Rodney activated his radio.

"I thought I made it clear that I was busy," he said. He listened to the response. "What?!" he let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine. I'll be there in a minute, McKay out. That new technician the SGC sent is going to make me snap," he told Carson. "I don't think I ever met a more mindless . . . I'll be back."

"Alright," Carson nodded, already feeling pity for the tech.

"And don't touch anything!" Rodney told him on his way out. "Except the console," he added over his shoulder.

"Right," his friend muttered. He consulted Rodney's data pad. As Carson attempted to access the information they were looking for, he moved the book McKay had brought up on the ledge above the console. He wasn't entirely sure why Rodney had found it necessary to bring it in the first place—he had pretty much everything he could possibly need on his computer.

After regarding the controls on the console for a moment, Carson turned his attention back to the computer pad. Just then, the book slipped off the ledge and hit one of the buttons before he could catch it. A hiss was emitted as the sprayers in the enclosed glass compartment went off, releasing a grayish mist.

"Oh, crap," the Scot muttered, realizing his small blunder a bit too late: he'd left the door open and now, whatever the sprayers had been designed for was released into the room. Almost automatically, he turned and shut the door to prevent the aerosol from escaping into the corridor. Unfortunately, he hadn't thought of trying to escape into the hallway himself. It didn't matter, though, because he wouldn't have had time to do so before the door closed by itself, anyway.

"Carson?" Rodney called several minutes later as he passed his hand over the door panel for the third or fourth time. Finally, he dismantled it and opened the door manually. "Carson!" he cried as the door opened to reveal his friend lying on the floor. He was at his side in an instant.

"Rodney . . ." Carson murmured, but his eyes remained closed.

"I need a medical team!" McKay shouted frantically over his radio. "Carson? Carson . . . can—can you hear me? Carson?!" But he received no further response.

---

_TBC . . ._

A/N: This chapter went back to four days before Sheppard's team, along with Dr. Markham, went to Vardis, the alien planet with the medical man mentioned in previous chapters. Let me know what you thought—and if you have any questions.


	8. Fine For Now

A/N: Thank you to my loyal reviewers—truly, you make my day! Be sure to tell me what you think of the chapter . . .

**Chapter 8: Fine For Now**

_The next day, being 10 days before the present_

"What do we know?" Elizabeth Weir asked Dr. Zelenka as she entered the viral lab which, after having been properly ventilated and the such, was now crawling with as many people as could possibly work together in that limited space. The Czech was positioned behind the control console and therefore was closest to the door. McKay was towards the back of the lab berating one of the junior scientists.

"Well," Radek answered, glancing up from what he was doing, "we've determined that the Ancients were using this lab to try to develop effective ways to use viruses against their enemies."

"Biological weapons," the woman stated more than asked.

"Yes and no," the scientist replied. "They did want to use the viruses to incapacitate their aggressors but not necessarily to kill them. It would appear that nearly all the viruses have an antivirus . . ." He was about to continue on to explain some fascinating history about the lab, but Weir interjected.

"Do you which one Carson was infected with?" she asked.

"No," Radek answered grimly. "Apparently, this lab dealt with at least 80 different viruses more than half of which were converted into aerosol form to be tested in that machine there," he motioned to the sprayer compartment. "It could take days to pinpoint the one . . ."

"No! No! No! No!" Rodney practically shouted at the junior scientist. "Y-you're doing it _wrong_! How many times . . . G-jus—just get out of here!"

"But, Dr. McKay," the young woman began.

"No, just beat it! Scram—and send someone I don't have to babysit!" Radek raised his eyebrows as he quietly regarded his colleague and turned back to Weir.

"The whole situation is making Rodney somewhat . . . irritable," he told her.

"And his health checks out?" she questioned as the physicist slammed his fist against a counter in frustration.

"So far," the Czech responded dubiously. "He's supposed to check back with the infirmary in an hour."

"Right," Weir said. "Make sure he doesn't miss that."

---

_In the Infirmary, about an hour or so later  
_

"Are you done, yet?" Rodney demanded with a scowl. The nurse shot him a whithering look (which was wasted on him) as she removed the needle from his arm with the blood sample she'd been told to take. Had he been anyone but Rodney McKay, her glare might've melted him into a pool of protoplasm. Then again, had he been anyone else, he probably wouldn't have elicited so lethal a glance. The nurse walked away with the sample, muttering under her breath.

"Dr. Beckett always said you were a difficult patient," Dr. Jennifer Keller noted, approaching the man from the other side of the room.

"Don't," Rodney told her with amazing succinctness (for him, that is). She knew what he meant. He didn't want to talk about his sick friend. He lowered his sleeve. "Well?" he asked expectantly.

"No sign of the virus, yet," she replied. "How are you feeling?"

"How am I supposed to feel?" he demanded, defiantly meeting her gaze. She looked down at her clip board, deftly marking something in the file. This wasn't a point she was willing to press at the moment.

"I'm clearing you for active duty," Jennifer told him, "assuming that your blood sample comes back clean. If you begin experiencing any sort of symptoms, I want you to return immediately." Rodney rose to leave. "Dr. McKay," she spoke admonishingly, "I don't care if it's a twitch or a small cough, if you experience anything that might be a symptom, I expect you in this infirmary. Do I make myself clear?" McKay gave an impatient huff.

"Crystal," he responded saucily. "Now, can I go, or do you wish to poke and prod me some more?" In truth, he was copping an attitude slightly worse than usual.

"No. That'll be all, doctor," the physician answered dismissively. The scientist took his leave, failing to acknowledge Dr. Weir as they passed each other, though it's possible he didn't even see her.

"Is he . . ?" Elizabeth asked, motioning after the distracted (or perhaps, extremely focused) man.

"Physically, Dr. McKay is fine," Dr. Keller answered. "At least for now."

"How's Carson?" the head of Atlantis fell into step beside the blonde as she made her way through the infirmary.

"He's stable, breathing on his own, and his fever's under control," the medical doctor responded. "However, I'm afraid to admit that I'm not entirely sure what the virus is doing to him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, at first I thought he had slipped into a coma, but his brain activity's too high. It's closer to what it would be if he were up walking around and interacting with people, working. Like he's in a deep sleep, dreaming, only he's non-responsive," Dr. Keller explained.

"Is it life-threatening?" Elizabeth wanted to know.

"I don't know, yet," Jennifer admitted grimly as they approached the isolation room that held the unconscious CMO, "but without an antivirus, I don't think he'll be conscious anytime soon."

"Come on, Carson," Weir whispered to herself as the blonde left to see to another patient. "What's going on in there?"

---

_In the realm of unconsciousness_

"Oh, crap," Carson Beckett muttered as Rodney's book fell onto the console before he could stop it. He glanced up with a start as a hiss was emitted from the glass shower-thing. To his relief, the door had been shut. He let out the breath he'd been holding in as he set the problematic book on a flatter surface.

"Carson?" Dr. Weir's voice came over the radio.

"Elizabeth?" he returned.

"Major Lorne's team just called requesting backup," the woman informed him. "I sent Colonel Sheppard and his team to assist. I want you have a med team standing by."

"I'm on it," the doctor assured her. Leaving the lab, he briskly made his way toward the infirmary, giving instructions to his team over the radio as he did so. When the two teams finally returned through the gate a little more than half an hour later, Dr. Beckett and several of his staff were waiting in the gate room. Major Lorne had been shot in the upper arm and just below the collar bone, with a deep gash along his left knee. Two of his team followed with similar injuries, one of them leaning on Teyla for support. The Athosian herself had a few minor cuts.

"Alright," Carson told his team as the injured came through the gate, "let's get these people to the infirmary!"

"Doc!" John shouted as he crossed the event horizon. The doctor turned, automatically wondering what kind of harm the air force officer had come to. His heart stopped in the same moment he realized the pain in the man's voice was not from physical hurt.

"Rodney!" the Scot exclaimed, watching frozen for but a moment as the colonel and Ronon gently placed the scientist on one of the gurneys. "What happened?" he demanded, gathering his wits about him as they all rushed through the corridors. John was obviously shaken, though he hid it pretty well.

"I—I stopped to help Adams," he answered. "Rodney shoved me out of the way before I even knew I had a gun pointed at me... H-he was shot."

"Twice," Ronon elaborated, calmer than his teammate. "Maybe three times—hard to tell."

"I think he hit his head, too," Sheppard added, then became flustered. "Damn it! I didn't even know I had a gun pointed at me!" Ronon put a hand on his shoulder as they were left behind in the waiting room.

"Alright," Carson ordered, turning his thoughts to the task at hand, "let's get this man into surgery!"

---

_TBC . . ._

A/N: I finally couldn't stand to just call her Dr. Keller—too limited—so I asked Mallozzi on his blog and he said her first name was Jennifer. So Jennifer it is. Anyhow . . . did ya'll like the chapter?


	9. Terribly Sorry

Gabumon: Yes, yes. Both dreaming.

Amsilcox: What Rodney "experienced" on the planet was entirely in Rodney's mind.

A/N: Thanks to all of you who've reviewed. Let me know if you have any more questions. This chapter is a little short, but I'll make it up to ya'll later.

And now for

**Chapter 9: Terribly Sorry  
**

_In reality, 9 days before the present_

Dr. Rodney McKay stood outside the isolation room, looking in at his friend. If all the odd, scattered bits of time he'd spent doing just that in the past two days had been added together, it would've amounted to several hours. So far the team working in the lab hadn't found anything useful. They didn't know which virus had infected their friend . . . and Rodney knew it was all his fault. He was always getting people into trouble. Usually it was himself, but now . . .

Reaching out a hand, he opened the door to the room. Rodney knew he wasn't supposed to go in for various different reasons, but he didn't care. Closing the door softly, he made his way over to the bedside. For several minutes, he just stood there, listening to the low hum of medical equipment, the steady beep of the heart monitor. Carson looked as though he were sleeping, as if he would awake at any moment with a ready smile.

"I-I'm sorry," a sort of choked, strained voice finally murmured. It took McKay a moment to realize that the voice was his own. "I, uh . . . I shouldn't have asked you to help," he continued. "Your—your work is here, helping people, or developing new medicines, not cataloging some . . . lab." He fell silent for a moment, unaware that he was being watched.

"Oh, my," the nurse said, coming up beside Dr. Keller, who was watching Rodney from outside Carson's room. "I'm terribly sorry—I thought he'd left. I'll get him out." She moved to retrieve the scientist, but Jennifer put a hand on her arm.

"Don't," she said softly.

"Doctor?" the nurse questioned.

"How many friends do you have, Sarah?" Dr. Keller asked her, though her gaze remained on McKay.

"Lots," Sarah answered automatically, obviously puzzled.

"How many close friends?" her supervisor continued. "People who are there for you no matter what, even when you're at your worst, or when you make mistakes?"

"Several—at least five or six," the nurse replied. "Why?"

"Dr. McKay thinks he only has one," Jennifer said, looking at her co-worker for the first time. "Only one person who is still his friend even when he does something stupid and destroys a solar system or nearly gets himself killed. One true friend—and now that friend is sick and he thinks it's his fault."

"Oh," Sarah murmured gently.

"Let him stay awhile," the doctor concluded. "It'll probably do more good than harm." The two women went on to other tasks, though the nurse with a bit of hesitation.

"You know, I don't really like this place," Rodney continued talking. "The infirmary, that is. Something about needles and-and people hooked to different, um, machines just makes me feel . . . helpless and nervous, you know? I know I, uh, I don't say this much to people, but—I really respect you. You—you like your job. I don't know, just something about . . . knowing that you're here . . . it makes this place seem safer and it—it doesn't bother me as much as it would. Well, except that now you're a patient and," he halted for a moment, tears filling his eyes, "and it-it's all my fault and I'm . . terribly, terribly sorry." He lapsed into silence as the tears streamed freely down his face.

---

_In Carson's mind_

The doctor stood just inside his office. In his hand he held Rodney's medical file which now included several new x-rays and MRI images, but he wasn't looking at them. The images already burned into his memory, his eyes were closed, holding back the tears that threatened to come, his lips pressed together to prevent them from trembling. _Bloody hell!_ He had to somehow detach himself so he could think, so he can do what was needed. The man drew in a deep breath and blinked the moisture from his eyes. He had work to do.

"Elizabeth," Carson said by way of greeting as he approached the dark-haired woman. If she'd been waiting long, she didn't say anything. They made their way towards the intensive care section of the infirmary.

"How's Rodney?" she asked, her voice soft. The doctor didn't meet her gaze. How could her tell her? How could he just say that the man's injuries were severe, fatal even? That the stability of his condition balanced on the edge of a metaphorical knife? That his chances of survival were less than . . .

"He's stable," Carson finally answered. "For now." Why, after all this time, did Rodney choose to play the hero? And yet, it wasn't so surprising after all . . .

"How bad is it?" Elizabeth prompted when the physician didn't continue. Tears sprang to his eyes again.

"It's bad," he answered, his brogue thicker than ever. "He took three gunshot wounds in the back. One punctured his right lung, causing it to collapse, while a second caused some severe damage and internal bleeding in his lower abdomen. The third bullet caused damage to his spinal cord. Now, we were able to go in and repair most of the damage, but he's not out of the woods yet. If he recovers . . ." Carson winced as he noticed Weir's expression out of the corner of his eye. "When he recovers, it's more than likely that he won't be able to walk."

"He's paralyzed?" the woman asked. They were standing close to the scientist's bed now.

"Aye," came the reply. "There's a chance it could be temporary, but not much. In addition to the gunshots, Rodney also took a nasty blow to the head when he fell, causing a subdural hematoma—bleeding around the brain. We were able to relieve the pressure by drilling a small hole into the back of his skull and allowing the blood to drain, but we still don't know the extent of the damage. There's a good chance it'll affect his memory and ability to concentrate . . . we're also monitoring him for seizures." Carson took a deep breath. As they silently watched their unconscious friend, he suddenly realized he had nothing else to say. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to meet Elizabeth's gaze.

"You're doing everything you can for him," she said reassuringly. Dr. Beckett managed a sad smile. That was precisely what he should've been saying to her.

---

_TBC . . ._


	10. Not Crazy

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up. It's been a busy week. That and it wouldn't let me upload a document all weekend. Enjoy.

**Chapter 10: Not Crazy  
**

_Still in the realm of dreams and unconsciousness_

Dr. Carson Beckett awoke to find himself staring at the ceiling, or perhaps he'd been laying there awake for some time—it was difficult to tell. He vaguely recalled Dr. Weir telling him to take some time off. Apparently, he must have given in, because here he was in his quarters.

After a moment, he got out of bed and proceeded to get ready for work. Once he was showered and dressed, Carson made his way to the mess hall to get a cup of coffee before heading to the infirmary. Everyone seemed to be acting strangely, many of them looking at him with sad smiles, almost as though they pitied him.

"Good morning, Dr. Beckett," a young woman greeted him near the coffee machine, her expression full of sympathy. He didn't even remember her name.

"Good morning, lieutenant," the CMO returned with a smile. He wended his way towards the infirmary. At this rate, he'd only be a few minutes early. Stopping in his office to leave his coffee to get cold on the desk, he hurried towards the intensive care section. Pulling back one of the curtains, he halted. It was empty. The bed was empty! Carson's heart skipped a beat and he felt a knot begin to form in his stomach.

"Where's my patient?" the Scot demanded, approaching two of his staff. Doctors Keller and Cole looked up from what they were doing.

"I beg your pardon?" Dr. Cole asked, obviously confused.

"Rodney—where is he? I wasn't informed he'd been moved," the man responded.

"Carson?" Jennifer questioned slowly, exchanging a look with the other woman.

"It's a perfectly logical question!" Beckett exclaimed, mildly irritated. "He shouldn't have been moved—at least not without consultin' me first." His two staff members wore the same sort of expression as the others he'd encountered that morning, only now, they no longer tried to hide their pity. Dr. Keller put a hand on his arm.

"Have you gotten any sleep since you got back?" she asked gently. "Dr. Weir said you could take as much time as you need . . . honestly, Carson—we can handle it here."

"Take as much time as I need for what?" Carson demanded. "Since I got back from where?"

"Do you really not remember?" Dr. Cole inquired, concern filling her tone. As he looked from one of his co-workers to the other, the knot in the pit of his stomach morphed into a very distinct sinking feeling. Tears stung his eyes, causing them to appear even bluer as realization slowly dawned upon his features.

"Oh, god . . ." he murmured. "From Earth, ye mean? A few days ago we got back from Earth where we—we had a . . ." Carson left the words unspoken—they were too painful to utter aloud. He slowly pulled away from Jennifer's soothing touch before turning and leaving the infirmary. He felt numb, his thoughts processing sluggishly—too sluggishly. How could he have been so daft? How could have forgotten so soon that . . . that he had failed? That Rodney had died? He stopped suddenly.

If it had truly happened, how could he forget at all?

---

_In reality, 5 days before the present_

"Radek," Dr. Elizabeth Weir said as she entered the lab where the Czech was working. "You said you had something."

"Dr. Weir," he returned, finishing off something on the data pad as she came up beside him. "Yes, we were able to determine which virus it is that's making Rodney and Carson sick. According to the Ancient data base, this particular virus remains virtually undetectable in the system until it has great enough numbers to make the host sick, which is why Carson became ill right away and Rodney did not."

"Is it contagious?" the woman wanted to know.

"Yes, but only for about the first fifteen minutes after a person falls ill, which means the only person at risk right now is probably Colonel Sheppard, possibly Dr. Markham, as well. But that's not all," Radek met her gaze. "They had just discontinued working with that particular virus before the lab was shut down."

"Why?" Weir asked, though she wasn't sure she really wanted to know.

"Well, as I mentioned before, the Ancients wanted to use the viruses to incapacitate their enemies as opposed to actually killing them. That is why nearly all the viruses have an antivirus," he replied.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at . . ."

"It doesn't have one."

"One what?"

"The virus that's making Carson and Rodney sick—it doesn't have an antivirus," Dr. Zelenka told her. "The Ancients stopped working with it because they didn't have the time to find or create one."

"Will they get better on their own?" Elizabeth asked.

"No," the man answered grimly. "Unless we can create an effective antivirus, they're both gonna die—along with anyone else who contracts the virus."

---

_In Carson's mind_

Carson Beckett, PhD, purposefully made his way through the corridors. He'd tried two different locations as well as using the radio, but he'd been unable to locate the man he was looking for. There was one more place he wanted to try. As he stepped out onto the seldom-used balcony, he let out a sigh of relief to find that he'd finally been right.

"Colonel Sheppard," he said, making the other man aware of his presence. John continued to stare out across the broad expanse of ocean that surrounded Atlantis. Carson came up beside him.

"I know what you're going to say," the air force officer finally spoke. "You're gonna try and convince me that it wasn't my fault—that I shouldn't blame myself—but the fact is, Rodney was shot watching my back. If I'd been paying closer attention . . . it should've been the other way around."

"Actually, I was going to say that somethin' isn't right," Carson responded. "This whole situation—I don't think any of it is real." The colonel turned to give him a strange look.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded.

"Well, apparently, several days have passed, but I don't remember a thing, not to mention the fact that none of you have any idea who it was that attacked you," the doctor said.

"It was a bunch of guys with projectile weapons!" John said sarcastically. "What more do you want?"

"Was it the Genii?"

"I—I don't know!"

"I should think that you would know whether it was them or not. That, and I highly doubt I'd be able to forget my best friend dyin' in my own infirmary. No, colonel, I think there's something else goin' on," Carson told him earnestly. "It's like this is all some sort of elaborate dream." They looked at each other for a moment.

"I never thought I'd say this to anyone," John finally said, "but I seriously think you need to have a chat with Dr. Heightmeyer." He turned and left the balcony.

"I'm not imaginin' things!" Carson called after him in frustration. "Somethin's not right here!" With a sigh, the doctor turned his pensive gaze out over the ocean, trying to figure out what could possibly be going on.

---

_TBC . . ._


	11. Solution

A/N: Sorry it's been taking me so long—hectic week.

**Chapter 11: Solution**

_Reality, four days before the present_

"Incoming wormhole!" the technician announced.

"Raise the shield," Dr. Weir instructed.

"Done."

"Do we have an IDC?" she wanted to know.

"Not yet," Chuck replied, and then, "We're receiving a radio transmission . . . it's from Vardis, ma'am."

"Vardis? Put it on the speaker," Elizabeth told him.

"Atlantis, this is Lallus, the Healer, can you hear me?" asked a voice that Dr. Weir didn't recognize.

"Lallus, this is Dr. Weir, what can we do for you?" she inquired.

"On the contrary, Dr. Weir, I call to offer my assistance," Lallus replied. "I understand that one of your people is sick, that he suddenly fell ill when last your people visited our planet."

"That's right," Elizabeth replied. "That was about four days ago. I'm afraid there isn't much you can to to help—it's something we've never seen before."

"You don't understand, Dr. Weir," the man sounded earnest, "I have. I'd guess that your man seemed to be fine before suddenly becoming disoriented and falling into a coma-like state. It would have been approximately four or five days from the time he was exposed until he fell sick and since then he's been virtually unresponsive to even the most effective treatments. Am I right?" Weir exchanged a look with the technician.

"Yes, you are," she replied.

"Dr. Weir, if that virus didn't originate on Vardis, then we have something remarkably similar—something I've been able to cure," Lallus told her. "I ask permission to come through to your world and work with your doctors. Even if it is different, I believe my previous experience will be useful in creating a viable remedy."

"Ma'am?" the technician asked when she didn't respond immediately. Sheppard had become sick that morning and Carson had had to be put on a ventilator. They had pretty much run out of options.

"Lower the shield," she finally answered. "Lallus, you can come through."

---

_In the realm of unconsciousness, infirmary_

"You think I wouldn't know if my best friend was dead or not?" Dr. Rodney McKay demanded.

"Rodney," Weir began.

"No," Rodney interrupted. "Something isn't right . . . this whole situation is entirely messed up. Everything doesn't feel off to you?"

"Rodney, you've had a concussion," Elizabeth pointed out.

" 'Had' being the operative word, and that was a perfectly fine explanation when I was dragging Sheppard along behind me through the wilderness," the man responded with his typical sarcasm. "Now, I'm feeling fine and everything still doesn't make sense. Can I leave now?" He directed the last part at Dr. Keller as she approached.

"As long as you promise to return in a couple of days," the physician returned. "And you're still not cleared for active duty—not until you've had more time to heal."

"Oh, I'll be sure not to run any laps," McKay groused. His sore ribs and the cast on right foot (which was even more uncomfortable than he'd imagined) were making him grumpier than usual.

"You're free to go," Jennifer said, handing him a pair of crutches.

"What? You mean I don't get a wheelchair?" he complained.

"If you experience any symptoms, such as a headache, let me know," she instructed—she wasn't about to argue with him. He got up and moved across the infirmary as the two women began to talk. The scientist went over to his teammate's bed. As he stood there, John's eyelids flickered open.

"Hey," he murmured.

"Hey," Rodney returned. "How are—how are you doing?"

"You know, still feeling like I fell off a cliff."

"Yeah, well . . . sorry about that."

"How many times do I have to tell you it's not your fault?" the colonel demanded. He still didn't look too great, Rodney thought, especially since he was still hooked up to a menagerie of medical equipment. (Where were the last few days?) Surrounded by all those bandages, blankets, and machines, Colonel Sheppard seemed so . . . vulnerable—something the scientist was unaccustomed to. Rodney took the seat close to the bed.

"You'll probably have to say it again," he finally answered. "Do you remember anything that happened?"

"Not a thing," John answered, then added, "Elizabeth said you thought Carson was with us."

"He was—I mean, I did," Rodney said. They became quiet.

"You know," Sheppard said slowly. "In a way, you're lucky."

"How do you mean?"

"You got to go on one last mission with him, even if it wasn't real."

"Dr. McKay!" a nurse interrupted before he could respond. "You're not supposed to be in here. Colonel Sheppard needs his rest."

"Right," McKay apologized, "sorry." He stood up to leave.

"Sneak back later," John whispered with a wry smile. The scientist smiled back. He still wasn't entirely convinced that all of this was really happening. Now, he was going to find out for sure . . .

---

_Reality, two days before the present, medical lab_

"That should be it," Lallus said looking up from the slide. "It's hard to know for certain because this virus is a mutation of the one we have on Vardis. Or, rather, I guess our virus is a mutation of this one." Despite the Vardins' relatively simply lifestyle, Lallus' medical knowledge proved to be almost equal to the Atlanteans.

"It worked in all the test simulations," Dr. Keller pointed out.

"Yes, it did," Lallus answered. "But I'll be perfectly honest with you—if your virus is like ours and this antivirus is even a little off, it might have the opposite effect. This serum, if it doesn't work, will speed up the progression of the virus and your people will die."

"Those odds don't sound very encouraging," the doctor informed him, beginning to look a little anxious.

"I've only been wrong once in the past fifteen years," responded the healer.

"And the time you were wrong?"

"The first time I attempted creating an antivirus . . . the one person I wanted to save more than any other—and he died in less than three days instead of two weeks."

"Do you mind if I ask who it was?"

"My son," Lallus answered, tears in his eyes. "He was only fourteen years old and in my desperation not to lose him at all, I became too hasty and lost him the sooner."

"Yet, you tried again," Jennifer said softly. He met her gaze.

"Yes," he agreed. "I'm a healer—it's who I am. As much as it hurt to lose him, I can't let others experience the same loss. Not if I can help it." The woman gave a small smile. She couldn't help but think that he reminded her a bit of Carson. "Well," he said, regaining his lost composure, "let's save some lives, shall we?"

---

_TBC_

A/N: The next chapter should be the conclusion, and hopefully, I'll have it up very soon-ly. We shall see.


	12. Awake

A/N: Here it is . . .

**Chapter 12: Awake**

_In Carson's mind_

There was a knock at the door of the lab.

"Carson? Mind if I come in?"

"Kate," the man glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Not at all, love. Come in." He was scrolling through some information on the data pad Rodney had interfaced with the control console the last time they were in there.

"What are you doing?" Dr. Heightmeyer asked, coming up beside him.

"This is where it all started," Carson replied.

"Where what started?" the psychologist gave him a strange look.

"The slight inconsistencies—where things just didn't feel right . . . it started in this room. I've been going over the information on the data log, but I haven't been able to find anything."

"Carson, Rodney was your very good friend—it's only natural that should feel a sense of loss, but you have to accept the fact that there was nothing you could do to save him. It makes sense that you'd be drawn here, it's the last place you saw him alive and well, but eventually, you have let go . . . you can't just expect to hit a few buttons and bring him back. He's gone, Carson. Rodney is gone." She gently placed a hand on his shoulder and he stopped what he was doing. Suddenly, the Scot looked up at her.

"What'd you just say?" Carson demanded.

"He's gone?" Kate returned, confused.

"No, before that—about hitting buttons," he glanced about the room as he spoke, his gaze finally resting upon the book that he'd set aside several days earlier. "Bloody hell . . ." he murmured.

"What? What is it?"

"When we were in here before, Rodney and I, I was looking about while Rodney tapped into the control console," Carson explained, moving around the console and towards the shower-like structure. "I opened this door to have a look inside before Rodney startled me. I joined him back at the console until he was called to help in the control room."

"Where he was when Major Lorne's team called for back-up," Kate said. He looked like he was about to respond, but continued with his previous train of thought, instead.

"As I was going over the data, this book fell onto the console," he held up the aforementioned book. "It hit one of the buttons and I heard the sprayers go off."

"And . . ?" the woman was obviously not seeing the connection.

"I'd never closed the door to the containment chamber—Rodney startled me before I got the chance and it entirely slipped my mind."

"But it was closed when the sprayers went off."

"It couldn't have been—I never closed it."

"Maybe Rodney closed it."

"He never left the control console."

"Then, what are you saying?" Kate finally asked.

"That I released some sort of virus into the city and it's having some sort of an effect on everyone," Carson answered matter-of-factly. "Either that, or this is all some sort of hallucination and I'm the only one infected." He made his way towards the exit.

"Carson!" the woman exclaimed.

"Not now," the man passed his hand over the door panel. As the door opened, a brilliant light spilled into the room . . .

---

_Reality, the present_

"Well, look who's joining us!" a familiarly chipper voice spoke. Carson squinted in the speaker's direction.

"Elizabeth," another voice, slightly closer, announced, "he's awake!" The Scot let out a small moan. He was in the infirmary, of all places, in one of the beds, and the owners of the two voices were John and Rodney, who was in the bed beside him. The air force colonel sat perched atop his own bed on the opposite side of the physicist who was typing something on a laptop, which was probably contraband.

"What happened?" Dr. Beckett asked as Elizabeth and Dr. Keller approached.

"You were infected with a virus that you accidentally released in the lab," Weir answered. "You became sick immediately and Rodney fell ill a few days later." Dr. Keller took Carson's vitals while Elizabeth spoke.

"We almost thought we going to lose the two of you," Sheppard added.

"And what are you doin' here, then?" Carson wanted to know, looking at him skeptically.

"He was only sick for a couple of days," Rodney told him. He didn't sound very happy about the matter.

"Colonel Sheppard's right, though," Jennifer said, returning her penlight to her coat pocket. "If it wasn't for Lallus' help, we probably would've lost all three of you."

"Speaking of whom," John interjected. "Where is he? I still haven't officially met the guy."

"After being sure the antivirus was working, he returned to Vardis," Weir answered. "He promised he'd contact us the next time he was near the gate."

"How are you feeling?" Jennifer asked her newly awakened patient.

"A bit of a headache and a touch of nausea, but other than that, I'm doing fine, love," Dr. Beckett answered with a smile.

"I'll get you something," the blonde told him.

"I'm feeling fine, too, by the way," Rodney called after her. The others looked at him. "What?" he demanded. "She could've at least asked!"

---

_Two or so weeks later, somewhere on the mainland_

"I had just discovered there was a conspiracy to drive me completely mad when I finally woke up," Rodney finished telling Carson. A couple hundred yards behind them was the jumper. "I can't believe you actually figured it out while you were dreaming."

"Well, I am a medical doctor," Carson pointed out, casting his fishing pole. The scientist obviously wasn't paying much attention to his. "What do you suppose Colonel Sheppard dreamed about?"

"How should I know?" his friend asked, silently thinking he'd rather not know.

"I don't reckon he'll ever tell us."

"Probably not." They were silent for a moment.

"Look," McKay spoke suddenly, "I know I, uh—I know I don't say this as often as I should, but despite all those, um, remarks I have made about medicine being voodoo and not a real science and all, I didn't really . . . I-I guess what I'm trying to say is, I, um, I really respect you and I—I really appreciate your friendship. Yeah . . ." He trailed off. The physician smiled, gently placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"The feeling's mutual," he said.

---

End.

A/N: Well, that's it, folks! I hope you enjoyed it—be sure to tell me what you think!

Epilogue to follow.


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_What had been in Sheppard's mind_

A deluge poured from the sky as though every single planet in the universe was crying and their tears were falling upon the Earth. Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard just stood there, the rain having long since soaked his brown hair and dress blues. A hand rested upon his shoulder.

"You did everything you could," General Jack O'Neill told him. The older man held an umbrella.

"But it wasn't enough, sir," he responded. "It just—wasn't good enough." It was impossible to tell if there were tears running down his face. O'Neill inclined his head toward a waiting car.

"Let's get you home," he said softly. Reluctantly, John turned to go with him . . . leaving behind six freshly marked graves.

---


End file.
